


Out Of The Blue Sky

by Britpacker



Series: Blue Sky Thinking [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Another new world, another away team.  When this one brings back something unexpected can Trip Tucker coax his affected lover into providing Phlox with a cure?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Yes, it’s another of those “Malcolm gets hit by an inhibition-remover” fics. There’s just something about an unrestrained Reed I can’t resist!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's been anticipating their reunion ever since the away team left. Trip should remember the old saying: "Be careful what you wish for".

Commander Charles Tucker III, known to his folks, superiors and subordinates alike as Trip, whistled gustily between his teeth as he stepped off the bridge and into the turbolift. The away team was back from its overnight stay on the tiny, mineral-rich planet Aktaris, and by the Captain's cheery hail it was obvious to Enterprise's chief engineer a deal had been done for all the supplies Johnny Archer's hungry heart could desire. 

More important than any agreement over dilithium, that meant to Trip Tucker that his lover was safely home. 

Malcolm laughed at his outbreak of timorousness. Away missions hadn't suddenly become more dangerous, he'd say, just because two senior officers happened to be sharing a bed. Yet he'd say it with a softened version of his trademark half-smile and Trip knew he didn't have to explain. He knew that Malcolm was just as scared as he was of the universe objecting to their new relationship, even if Starfleet Command was willing to turn a blind eye.

He was just getting into a sweet daydream about their reunion after shift when the lift juddered to a halt. Before he could remind himself (for the fifteenth time) to get Rostov to check the systems the door had hissed open to reveal a flushed and bright-eyed armoury officer caught mid-hop. "Hey, Mal. I was just - whouff!"

Whatever it was he'd been just doing was lost, along with most of the air from his lungs, when the dark-haired lieutenant launched himself into the cubicle and slammed its startled occupant up against the wall. "Mmmm, hello, Commander," Malcolm Reed purred against the sliver of flesh exposed above his lover's shirt collar. Sinuous as a snake he rubbed himself against the bigger man's trapped length, teething hungrily before his tongue could sweep the mild sting away. "Did you miss me?"

"Hell, yeah." Nimble fingers were worming their way under the fastening of his jumpsuit and Tucker held his breath, waiting for the exact moment they'd get in between the buttons of the shirt beneath, pressing against the last thin barrier of his tank. His hips began to rock in unison with the other man's, the faint hum of the lift resuming its downward journey unnoticed under the pounding of blood in both temples and loins. Fingers curled in the short hair at his nape, guiding his head down until his parted lips connected with his boyfriend's. Briefly, the universe was blotted out.

Then Reed's other hand found its way into his shorts, the first firm press at the base sending a rocket right up into his skull. "Malcolm, stop!"

"Don't wanna." The impersonation of his Florida drawl would have been perfect, Trip thought, if it hadn't been muffled by Malcolm's tongue making an intimate examination of his tonsils. Keeping his lover shoved up against the wall the Englishman shifted until he could straddle a powerful thigh and ride it hard and fast. "Missed you so much, oh God Trip, kiss me!"

Taking orders from a subordinate. Well, he'd never been as hung-up on rank as certain snitty Brit of his acquaintance. Careless of the risk Tucker attached his mouth to the younger man's and did as he was told with a vengeance. 

Maybe he'd let Rostov off. The shuddering sensation as the lift ground to its noisy halt at least enabled him to preserve a shred of command dignity - _and common sense_ , he amended as he pushed his impassioned companion away. 

"At ease, Lieutenant!"

The barked command acted like a slap to the face. Reed rocked back on his heels, blinking like a man exposed to a sudden bright light. "Oh fuck, Trip, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me..."

"Whatever it was, I'd love it any other time of day." He wanted to reach out, comfort the crestfallen lieutenant, but something stopped Tucker's hand. "Dinner, my quarters, right off shift?"

"I'll be there." With a rueful attempt at a smile Malcolm stepped off at his level, his stormy gaze locked on the engineer's until the closing door severed the connection. 

Trip could have sworn he could still feel their burn when he reached Engineering. And the lump in his pants was going to take a long, long time to subside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's summoned. That can never be a good thing...

Two hours later he was buried so deep under overdue performance reviews a rescue crew would need a stack of high explosive to dig him out, and all thought of more pleasurable activities had been interred with him. The intrusive crackle of his office comm. seemed to come from another galaxy despite the fluting familiarity of those dulcet tones. “Phlox to Commander Tucker. Please report to Sickbay at your earliest convenience.”

It had taken Jon Archer exactly one headache to learn that was Denobulan for _kindly get your ass down here before I can send out a security detail to drag you by the ear, Sir._ “I’ll be right there, Doc,” he promised, only hesitating long enough to stretch limbs numbed by too long in the same position. “Kelly! Anybody wants me – I’ll be in Sickbay.”

Immediately his whole team made a show of cringing away from whatever contagion he might be carrying. “Yeah, funny,” he growled, swinging out past the engines on their howls of laughter.

At least, he thought, their camaraderie would carry him through whatever lecture was coming his way. A missed inoculation? Maybe he was overdue a physical by a day. Phlox could get mighty crabby when people didn’t observe his appointment schedule, but this time… if there’d been a message sent, Tucker could claim in good faith he hadn’t read it.

Sickbay was eerily silent, and he was conscious of three still figures lying in a row the moment he crossed the threshold. “Problem, Doc?”

Only when the Denobulan turned did Tucker identify the burly individual he’d been tending, and his heart dropped with a sickly thud into his boots. “What’s up with the Cap’n?”

“That’s what I’m attempting to find out, Commander.” Worry dimmed the alien’s large, over-bright eyes as effectively as an engineering override, deepening the crevices that edged his facial ridging. “Captain Archer relieved himself of duty half an hour ago, complaining of an inability to concentrate, accompanied by a persistent headache and hallucinations of an, erm, decidedly erotic nature. As he arrived, Ensign Sato was escorted in by a rather flustered Ensign Mayweather who seemed to be having difficulty keeping her hands off what I believe Lieutenant Reed would call his _family jewels_. I barely had time to sedate her before I was called to D Deck by Crewman Fisher’s room mate, who found him naked, in a catatonic state, completely covered in semen. I’m sure you realise what connects all three.”

Trip hadn’t been addressed with such exaggerated patience since his freshman year at the Academy, and then as now, his mind went blank. “Ummm, well, I…aw shit! They were on the away team!”

“With one other crewman.” Screw the Academy; Phlox was regarding him like his first schoolteacher about to hand out gold stars. “Have you seen Lieutenant Reed?”

Malcolm, ravishing him in the turbolift. Malcolm, bright-eyed and breathless, desperate enough to forget his duty. “Yeah. He was a little odd.”

“In what way? Distracted? Aggressive? Unusually amorous?”

“All of the above.” Those of Tucker’s internal organs which had avoided the parachute drop south squelched together into a single sticky mess somewhere in his midriff. “You think they’ve been drugged?”

“If you remember, Commander, the Aktari told us on first contact that they’ve been using an airborne pathogen to restore fertility in the major population centres devastated by chemical warfare a century ago.” Phlox, Tucker decided, had been studying human body language again; when he tipped back his head and rubbed his chin he was channelling Cutler deep in thought. “Whatever they’ve used has clearly had an effect on the away team; I’ve detected unusually high pheromone levels in all three of my patients that would lead to the hyper-stimulation of the libido... Do you know where Lieutenant Reed might be now?”

“The Armoury.” It was, and the pup of fleshy Denobulan lips admitted as much, a dumb question. “Shit. Maybe we’d better get down there.”

“Let’s not start a shipwide panic before it’s necessary.” the doctor recommended kindly. “If Mister Reed was in obvious distress, I think his devoted staff might have called for medical assistance already.”

It was true; not that Mal would appreciate it. “But if the rest of the away team’s been affected,” Trip exclaimed. The finger-wag he received was Professor Sato to the life.

“Unlike his companions, Lieutenant Reed has been umm, sexually active in recent weeks.”

_Active?_ Rampant, voracious and insatiable were the terms that zinged from Tucker’s cranium straight into his brain’s more southerly residence. “You think he’s immune?”

“Less immediately affected, perhaps. You did indicate there were residual symptoms when you last saw Mister Reed.”

Tucker crossed his arms and glared down his turned-up nose, unconsciously mimicking a stance familiar to anyone who had ever crossed his boyfriend. “You know Doc, just once in a while, it’d be nice to hear you call him Malcolm. ‘specially when you’re discussin’ his love life.” 

“If it makes you feel more comfortable to use your partner’s first name, Commander.” The jovial alien’s head twitched as his latest foible was registered and Trip found himself regretting the family tendency to blurt right out whatever happened to fly through his head. “And I dare say the lieutenant’s formidable reserves of self-discipline are playing a part in keeping him out of my clutches. I wonder…”

He wondered in silence just long enough for Trip Tucker’s head to start swimming and his sex drive to wilt like Chef’s overdone spinach leaves. “There’d better not be a paper at the end of this, Doc,” he said wearily, both hands raised to pre-empt the Denobulan’s next words. Phlox erupted into a strangled, semi-apologetic gurgle.

“I assure you, Commander, I value my life – and those of my caged friends – far more than that implies. If you would be kind enough to coax Mist – _Malcolm_ from his office, I’ll prepare a few tests – and make the Decon chamber a little more conducive to romance. The bioscanners should detect any hormonal changes during your – ahem! - encounter, but it would be helpful if I could take blood samples immediately before and after, so if you could…”

“Keep me outta this, okay?” He was, Trip acknowledged as the C.M.O’s chortle followed him, into the hallway, in it up to his neck. Which Malcolm was quite likely to break when he came to his senses and discovered his overactive libido had become a subject for Denobulan research. _Maybe I can claim it’s a heroic sacrifice in the name of duty. Mal’s big on that._

_Yeah, right. And beagles might fly!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm takes a Trip to the doctor's surgery. Sort of.

Not willing to risk a rocket from the boss by calling for help, he decided, but the armoury team were visibly relieved by the arrival of a senior officer asking for Lieutenant Reed. That it should be the chief engineer caused more than a few blushes before Crewman Mueller managed, in a strangled voice, to direct him through into Malcolm's interior office. "You might wanna make a run for it," Tucker suggested over his shoulder, vainly striving for a casual tone. "I'm guessin' he won't be pleased to be dragged away from whatever the hell it is he's doin'."

"Yes, sir." The strapping Bavarian didn't try to hide his smirk - or his relief when he reached the ladder to the upper level ahead of the slower-thinking Crewman Shanks. Trip only hoped the sound of Malcolm's muffled moan as he opened the connecting door didn't register that far off ground level.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant."

"Hello, love." His chair shoved back from an unusually cluttered desk Malcolm smiled slackly at the newcomer, the hand shoved down his open jumpsuit continuing its leisurely fondling motions. "I've been thinking about you all day. Can you tell?"

"That's nice to know, but aren't you s'posed to be on duty?" He couldn't help himself. Confronted by an aroused and eager Reed, thighs apart and pale cheeks appealingly flushed, Tucker could feel the treacherous stirring in his loins despite a simultaneous panicked realisation. _Less immediately affected my ass. He's been ready to blow all this time. Gawd, that's gotta hurt!_

"I've been warned in the past about _working too hard_." Long sable lashes fluttered, shielding eyes of purest smoke. Burrowing his buttocks into his seat cushion Malcolm delved a little deeper into his pants, letting himself loll bonelessly against the backrest. Another small moan rippled over his bite-swollen bottom lip.

Trip bit hard into his own, setting off a chain reaction of sensation that flowed down to meet the warm wave moving out from his balls. Malcolm, wanton and willing; uniform in disorder, heavy-lidded eyes all but eating him up. During shift. Wasn't that his wildest fantasy come true?

Through the gathering mist he saw Phlox's intent face: the narrowed lips; the enquiring stance; the three unconscious figures filling his biobeds. "Darlin', put that away and come with me, okay?"

"Mmm, isn't that what I've been wanting to do all day." Made graceless by the protrusion in his pants Reed hauled himself upright and sauntered to rub himself sinuously against his partner's taut frame. Wet lips worked hotly against the exposed skin of Tucker's throat, those long, capable hands fluttering random caresses, as if the wiry brunet couldn't decide where he most wanted to touch. "Want you so much, Trip, oh God I need to touch you," he mumbled, his tongue lingering to savour the salt of the bigger man's sweat. As if it burned, Trip yanked himself back.

"Easy darlin' there's something not right, we've gotta get y' to Phlox," he wheezed, aware his accent was thickening but confused whether it was through panic or sheer, unbridled lust. Glassy grey eyes wandered until they connected with his, their glorious colour almost lost beneath ink-black pupil. Puffy lips puckered.

"But I feel _gooood!_ "

"And I'm pleased to hear it." This was going to be more embarrassing than he'd thought. Carefully Tucker inched himself backward toward the door, trusting to the armoury team choosing the better part of valour while he half-dragged their sex-crazed boss toward the turbolift. He dipped his burning face to drop what he hoped was a sultry whisper into the quivering brunet's ear. "And when I've got you somewhere private I'll make you feel even better, okay?"

Sharp teeth snagged his jugular. "Promise?" Malcolm wheedled, utterly oblivious to their shuffling movement. Until the armoury door snapped closed in the wake, Trip didn't dare take a breath.

"Trust me, Malcolm." His body was responding despite himself; if Mal didn't overload on the pained hobble to Phlox's domain there was every chance somebody else would. "Us engineers are _awfully_ good with our hands."

That tongue hit the hyper-sensitive spot just behind his ear and his knees buckled momentarily. "Among other things," Malcolm cooed, letting himself sag in his lover's arms. Forced to hang on to keep the younger man upright Trip got his tender phallus trapped against the solidity of Reed's toned abs. Their moans overlapped and for a split second the prospect of a quick one in the elevator seemed irresistible.

Before his balls could tighten beyond redemption Tucker threw himself into the waiting lift, forcibly removing the hands he adored from his person. "Easy, tiger. Anybody might see us."

When Malcolm's response was a muffled laugh and another wet lick of his special place any remaining doubts about just how far out of his mind the Brit was dissolved. With his resolve suitably stiffened, a perfect match for his throbbing cock, Trip manoeuvred them successfully the last short stretch to Sickbay with their bodies a few crucial millimetres apart. "Hey, Doc? I think you theory's out the airlock, can you gimme a hand here?"

"How fascinating." As he spun from his desk the Denobulan's huge eyes managed to widen even further. "It would appear your presence is stimulating the toxin in Mister Reed's system. If you could guide him to the other bed, I need to take a blood sample: and if he's willing to let me, I'd like to apply a neural sensor before you disappear into your love-hole."

Tucker's head jerked back, shock slamming him like a Reed right-hook before comprehension had time to dawn. "That's love- _nest_ , Phlox," he grated, taking the opportunity of having a hand free to dash the sweat from his brow. Instantly, Reed insinuated himself back into the tiny gap, rubbing lazily against his boyfriend. "Mal? Darlin' slow down, Doc needs to run some tests, okay?"

"I don't think he's aware of my presence, Commander."

_No shit, Sherlock._

Lizzie, Tucker considered, would be laughing her butt off, wherever she was. But then she wouldn't have to face a mortified Reed when - _if_ \- Phlox's fuck-therapy worked and his lust-fried brain cells started to function in the old, poker-assed way.

"And this may be easier," the doctor prattled, dodging left then right to evade his unwitting patient's sultry wriggling, "if you'll be kind enough to keep him preoccupied."

Usually distracting Malcolm was the equivalent of making a Vulcan laugh - the nearest thing to impossible in the galaxy. This time Trip found all he had to do was sway a little closer, breathe against the slighter man's ear and Mal wouldn't have noticed a Klingon-Suliban alliance storming Sickbay. 

If it had all been his doing, not some freaky alien Viagra, Trip would have liked that image a whole lot more. 

"Thank you, Commander, I'm done." A small circular sensor had been applied to Reed's forehead and to Tucker's amazement Phlox pinched a small vial of blood between thumb and forefinger when he stepped away, regarding the entwined officers with a paternal smile. "The corridors have been evacuated, and please - take all the time you need. Commander T'Pol knows you are assisting me in my research."

" _Please_ don't put it like that when Mal comes outta this." His erection deflated at the mere thought. The spiky Limey bastard was going to be difficult enough to deal with once his self-control was restored without any suggestion of Denobulan study papers. Gently manipulating his man past the doctor Trip tried to force the unpleasant images flooding his mind away. "This is gonna bring him round, yeah?"

"I hope so." Briefly Phlox sobered and the naked worry he saw in his friend's open face ripped at Trip's heart. "Because if it doesn't..."

Whatever else the Denobulan might have said was blotted out of his head by the sudden sharp sting of teeth in Tucker's earlobe. Arousal, even skewered through with embarrassment and an icy knot of fear, flared hot and hard. He had to get to Decon. Fast.

Luckily Malcolm offered no resistance while he steered them down eerily quiet halls to the waiting chamber. He was too busy trying to separate Trip from his clothes, made clumsy by desperation until he gave up and simply twisted the thin fabric of the undershirt around his hands and tore it clean in two. "Malcolm. Baby, take it easy!"

"Mmmm, don't you want me, Commander?" On the way to his knees Reed had taken a grip on the Southerner's jumpsuit, as Tucker discovered when the utilitarian garment puddled at his feet. His partner nuzzled through his pubic hair, breath moist and hot against his tender balls. The tip of a tongue flicked out.

Bones, muscles and tendons alike melted into mush. Sinking into his boyfriend's loose hold Trip gave up all thought of the sensors monitoring their every hormonal surge. He was distantly conscious of the unfamiliar softness of a blanket beneath his knees; of the muted hue of the usually harsh blue lighting that lodged in his subconscious. He knew - kind of - where he was. He just didn't care anymore.

Malcolm certainly liked the changes he decided as the brunet rolled back onto a downy rug, both slender hands roving aimlessly over his glistening body. Empty eyes bored into Trip's half-lidded ones; thin, well-cut lips puckered, swollen by a potent combination of hard kisses and small bites. Undulating sinuously, he spread his legs and crooked a finger at his lover. "Please, Trip."

A heart as hard as his cock, Tucker knew, would've melted in the face of that appeal. Blindly grabbing at a handy-looking tub - unscented decon gel, it'd work as well as anything for a man in a hurry, he'd have to thank Phlox later - he crawled to join the whimpering Englishman, replacing the slim, pale hands with his own larger, more golden ones to trail random patterns over that beautiful body while simultaneously leaning in for a crushing, tooth-scraping kiss. Reed grabbed at his shoulders and both men grunted when Tucker's greater bulk landed plumb atop his partner. 

Suddenly the engineer found himself wondering if that airborne pathogen the Aktari relied on for re-population wasn't transferable by bodily contact. 

Hot, hard and desperate, he was no more in control of their coupling than Malcolm. He was vaguely aware he should be bothered about that.

Instinctively he smothered his hand with gel, worming it southerly in a glistening trail until he could play with his man's velvety balls. Malcolm bucked. He squealed.

And the moment a slippery finger touched his tight hole, he flipped.

Tucker's backside hit the deck so hard a dozen feather mattresses wouldn't have softened the blow. His head bounced back off a conveniently placed cushion just enough to look right up into his mate's feral snarl: enough to scare a Klingon shitless even before a bone-dry finger thrust itself up his ass, the raw sting making him holler. "Malcolm, go easy!"

His answer was a growl, but a moment later the finger was replaced more carefully by a digit drenched with grease. "Better," he ground out, winning the smallest easing of those tight-pulled lips. "Gimme a minute, yeah?"

Beyond verbal communication Malcolm answered with a firm internal stroke that grazed Trip's hottest spot. Lightning tore up his spine making him arch and squirm, mutely demanding. A second finger found its mark, the slim digits spreading. Preparing the way.

The thought was barely formed before his legs were hooked up, his hips were gripped, and Malcolm Reed's thick, throbbing phallus buried itself deep within his rectum.

Blood spurted into Trip's mouth as he bit down hard, the minor sting around his eyeballs a reliving focus from the bowel-deep burn below, counting off the seconds until it mellowed into the welcome bloom of warmth he knew, in his rational moments, for the greatest feeling in the universe. "Oh, yeah," he grated, undulating where his lover would have held still. "C'mon, darlin' I need..."

"Hurt - you." The words were dragged from the depths of Reed's soul, a glimmer of the real man struggling through the madness. "Can't - mustn't - oh, God, Trip!"

"'s okay." More than okay, but to express the pleasure he was feeling would take greater intellectual control than Tucker was capable of right then. He worked his legs down until they gripped around the Englishman's waist, holding him tight while he began to pump, deep and hard, dark head thrown back and slitted eyes all inky pupil. Sweat dribbled around the edges of Phlox's neural sensor but Trip no longer noticed the strange white blot on his partner's brow. He strained upward, individual neurons cutting out one by one under a firestorm of bliss. He was driven by pure instinct, a match for his lover in desperation, needing him deeper, harder, right there, where a touch set his spine on fire. It happened again.

His shriek reverberated around Decon. 

Malcolm's cut through it, harsher and deeper while his body juddered and his head fell back, the raw power of release overwhelming him. For several moments more the two men ground together, shaking, sobbing, until the clashing waves of pleasure calmed to ripples and left them panting, utterly spent.

Of their own volition Tucker's arms flopped around his gasping lover, his body still pressing closer as if it wanted nothing more than to melt into its mate. He couldn't feel the unyielding deck beneath his butt. He wanted to float, filled by Malcolm Reed's warm seed, through all of space and time.

The first stirring of the lax form atop him didn't register. What brought him round with the immediacy of an ice bath was the rough, all-too-rational question blown against his neck. "Trip? Why's he done up Decon like a whore's workspace?"

"Huh?" It wasn't uncommon for Mal to come round quicker, Tucker reflected groggily. In fact, just once, it'd be nice...

"What the fuck is going on?"

 _Ouch_. "D' you hafta _shout?_ " he whined, aware someplace deep in his subconscious that the minor evasion wasn't going to work. "Uh, I mean, you're feeling better, right?"

"Why. Have we. Had sex. In Decon?"

Right on cue, the comm. bleeped cheerfully. "This is Doctor Phlox. Perhaps I might explain..."

A fist flew at the offending unit. Whether his flinch was for the delicate mechanisms assaulted, or the fine, pale skin that would be bruised by nightfall, Tucker wasn't sure. He just knew pondering the problem won another nought point three of a second's grace before he had to meet his soul mate's hostile, shuttered stare.

"Don't you remember anything?" he tried, hurt in spite of himself that the other man would simply spin away, snatching at the nearest item of clothing without bothering to check if it was his. "Comin' back from the planet... jumpin' me in the turoblift..."

"I wouldn't..."

The denial died a speedy death. In slow-motion, Reed turned to stare in blank horror at his best friend. "It seems like a dream, but... you came to my office..."

The battered comm. crackled. Briefly, Trip considered punching it himself. 

"If I could intervene, Lieutenant." Yes, there was damage to the unit. Phlox's ripened tones were rendered scratchy and incomplete. "I believe, to borrow the philosophy of an ancient Earth philosopher the ends will justify the means."

"Machiavelli was never my favourite political theorist, Doctor." Trip only hoped the comm. damage wouldn't distort the silken menace in his lover's voice. "And if the end in question is your sick scientific curiosity..."

"Please join me in Sickbay, gentlemen." The warning had gotten through loud and clear. "And if you'd care to remove the neural monitor... I'm analysing the data right away and the results are promising. I believe I may find a treatment for my patients' condition."

Finally, Tucker exulted; there was a trace of humanity back in his boyfriend's opaque eyes. "Patients?" Reed rapped. The doctor's embarrassed cough echoed around the sterile chamber.

"Accordin' to Phlox the rest of the away team's in _biiig_ trouble." The exaggeration might come back to bite his ass, but right now Trip didn't care. Keeping a casual air he finished dressing and sauntered toward the door. "Comin'?"

The muttered _"Rather think I just have"_ that followed him through the outer chamber sent his head spinning. They could survive this. Malcolm might not kill him. Or Phlox.

Always providing the Doc had the sense to stick to the science and keep his anthropological observations to himself!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phlox deals with his data. Trip has to deal with something tougher - an embarrassed Armoury Officer.

Neither man spoke on the short walk to Sickbay; and if Reed's eyes widened at the sight of his three comrades prone on their biobeds, the sheets covering Archer and Fisher visibly raised around the midriff, neither felt brave enough to pass comment. Hunched over his computer watching an array of readings scroll by, Phlox barely spared them a grunt. "Take a seat, Lieutenant; I'll be right with you," he instructed.

Trip felt some of the tension squeeze out of his shoulders. Professionalism. Detachment. Malcolm reacted well to that. Even when he was squirming, in his oh-so-dignified, military stiff way, fit to burst. 

Trip took a step back while his lover hopped onto the single remaining biobed, holding his legs so stiff the thigh muscles must scream in protest: a defence mechanism against any childlike urge to swing them, he guessed. When Phlox took a businesslike blood sample the Brit's rigid posture eased a fraction. Tucker risked shuffling closer. 

And ran slap into a force field thrown up by a pair of narrowed grey eyes which held the power of an electro-magnetic storm. "What?" he mouthed.

"Excellent, the toxin has completely dissipated." Without turning from his workstation across the room, Phlox seemed to have sensed the sudden increase in tension, and it had the usual unfortunate effect on his tongue. "The Reproduction and Fertilisation Council have really achieved something quite remarkable: I've never encountered such an adaptable stimulant before."

"I'm sure they'll be delighted, Doctor." The words were spat out syllable by precise syllable, as if releasing them actually hurt. Considering his boyfriend's frozen expression, Trip suspected they probably did.

"And you'll be pleased to hear that I'm extrapolating a synthetic antidote from the results of the bioscanners." Either Phlox was three times denser than the atmosphere of your average Class Nine or he was hooking onto breezy normality as his best chance of surviving the encounter. "The key is right _here_ \- you see the sudden _spike_ , Lieutenant? The urge to _impregnate_ one's mate leaves a unique signature in the human neural chemistry. It's really quite remarkable..."

_Okay, he's just that dense._

Neurological sensors, Tucker mused, were hardly necessary to detect the sudden spike in British temper occurring throughout the Denobulan's enthusiastic speech. "Of course, I'll have to adapt the antidote for Ensign Sato's _specific_ situation," Phlox tailed off vaguely before giving himself an obvious mental shake. "There _are_ chemical methods of deceiving the human libido, and now I have some data to work from... once my patients have been er, _satisfied_ , Lieutenant, perhaps you'd care to remove the relevant files? I can corrupt and then wipe them, but I understand Starfleet Security codes can be used to deadlock particularly sensitive data streams, even after deletion?"

"I couldn't possibly comment, Doctor." Still, there was the faintest softening of tightly pursed lips as Reed slipped off the bed to stand beside his partner, withdrawing fingers that stretched for his comforting grip at the last second. "But - thank you. Do I assume I'm free to return to my duties?"

Denobulan and human alike were, unusually, lost for words. "Uh, Mal are you sure you wanna..." Trip floundered. "I mean..."

Hot colour crested his lover's prominent cheekbones and ran in a narrow band across the high bridge of his straight nose. "Facing my staff will be uncomfortable enough," Reed ground out harshly. "Any delay will only make it harder. When one's under sentence of death, doesn't it make sense to summon the firing squad immediately rather than prolong the agony in the vain hope of a reprieve?"

Phlox was still stuttering, hands flapping like the wings of a downed bird, by the time Tucker caught up with his boyfriend in the corridor. "C'mon, Malcolm, it's not that bad!" he wailed, snatching in vain at the younger man's swinging arm. "It's not like anybody's gonna _say_ anything!"

" _Do_ shout a bit louder, they mightn't have heard you on the planet." The attempted sarcasm seemed to drain the last of the Englishman's temper and he half-turned, slumping against the wall for support. "Sorry. Shouldn't take it out on you. I wonder why you put up with me, sometimes."

"Because I love you, and it hurts me to see you hurtin'." As if he were approaching a wounded bear Trio extended a cautious hand, as ready to pull back as to lace his fingers through the slender ones spread his way. Letting out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding he rushed on, half an eye on Sickbay' resolutely closed doors. "You must know your team respect you, Malcolm! You've got no reason to worry about facing them, now or in the morning. They'd die before they'd hurt you!"

"Oh, they won't say anything." Like a mutinous schoolboy Reed allowed himself to be shuffled along the hall, his chin dipped, shoulders hunched. It took all Tucker's strength not to throw an arm around them and pull his man close, but he'd spent enough time in the medical facility for one week already. "But they won't have to, will they? They _saw_."

One of the few unpleasant experiences Trip Tucker had managed to avoid since Enterprise's launch was a sharp object twisting through the ribcage. In that instant, he knew exactly what he'd been missing.

"Are you upset because they saw us?" he asked, unconsciously stiffening his stance against the impending blow. "I know we've been discreet, but they've all heard..."

"Good God, no!! Horrified, Reed squeezed the fingers laced through his, the pain a reassurance to Trip as it raced in fiery arrows through the back of his captive hand. "It's just... oh, bollocks! They saw me out of control, Trip. I don't suppose you can understand what that means for me."

"Guess I can't." The ever-vigilant head of security. The man who never drank more than one glass of wine at a ship's function, who stood on the sidelines watching his friends getting royally wiped. The quintessential Englishman, upper lip as carefully starched as his standard-issue skivvies. 

"I swear I'm not ashamed of us." Forgetful of their surroundings, Malcolm turned and gripped his boyfriend's other hand, bringing up both limbs to his mouth. "But I've spent my whole career - my whole life - staying in control. I've never given anyone the power of seeing me weak, and now..."

"Letting go's not being weak, Mal." Five minutes. That's all he would need, just five minutes alone with Captain Stuart Reed to show off all he'd ever learned about the joy of _letting go_. "It's being human. Is that what you're scared of, that folks won't think you're some kind of superman 'cause you got overheated on a shot of alien fuck-pollen? I don't wanna dent your ego here, but they don't admire you _that_ much."

"I don't expect them to." His hands were dropped as if they burned, Reed's going to clasp behind his ramrod spine on a quick-march down the hall that left Trip having to lollop in his wake. "Any more than I expect myself to roll around like a bitch on heat in a public area. I couldn't control myself, Trip. No matter what the circumstances, that's not something I find easy to deal with."

"Sounds like you're bein' too hard on yourself again, Lieutenant." His use of rank stopped the brunet dead in his tracks, which at least, Trip congratulated himself, bought a little more time before they hit the turbolift and _polite society_. "And maybe it's not your team you're really scared of?"

He watched his lover bristle then subside, the leaking of defiance leaving him with the look of a lost little boy. "Probably," Malcolm admitted, letting himself be bundled onto the lift. "I'm not used to losing control, and it scares me to know it can happen so easily. I'm vulnerable, Trip, and I don't like anyone seeing me vulnerable."

"You didn't mind with me last Friday night."

His penis twitched at the memory evoked, and from the hiss that escaped him he figured Malcolm might be having the same reaction. "That's different," he muttered, dipping his eyes. A strong hand cupped his chin, gently compelling him to meet his lover's solemn stare.

"Because it was private?" Trip asked. The slumped shoulders lifted.

"Because it was you." Just saying it lifted his heart and brought a full-blown, wondering smile to the Englishman's face. "It's not just that I trust you, I trust _me_ with you, if that makes _any_ kind of sense."

He couldn't be hearing a swell of music in a turbolift. There again, Tucker knew he couldn't really be standing ten feet tall with stars exploding all round his head. 

He just felt like he was with Malcolm's shy confession ringing through his brain.

"I'm happy to hear that, darlin', because it's the same for me." They were being deposited on the Armoury deck. He could feel the faint breath of disturbed air against his cheek, proof the doors were opening, leaving them exposed - vulnerable - to any casual passer-by. Trip didn't care.

Moving fluidly he grasped the younger officer's clenched hands and carried them to rub against his glowing face. "You're safe here, Malcolm," he whispered, his tender heart breaking at the doubt that flashed through the man's expressive eyes. "You don't have to prove how strong you are to anyone. Folks care for you, and that's not about to change because they've seen you gettin' a tad oversexed.

"Yes," he continued abruptly when the lieutenant would have interrupted. "They prob'ly know all about the Aktari fertility trick. Hell, the bridge crew saw Hoshi molestin' poor Travis, and if you think word's not out about the Cap'n relieving himself of command, you're dreaming. And how d' you think Fisher's gonna feel about rooming with Downey for the rest of the cruise, considerin' how he saw him last?"

"I've been incommunicado recently, so I really can't make a judgement."

" _Miaow_ to you too, darlin'." The endearment in an open hallway was a risk, but when it earned a minimal half-smile Trip felt ready to turn cartwheels all the way to the Armoury. "Comatose and covered in come. Still think you've got something to be embarrassed about?"

"Don't push your luck, Yank." Attempting to undress an unreasonably desirable Chief Engineer in front of subordinates didn't, Reed admitted, seem quite as bad now. "I'd better go in, hadn't I?"

A quick double-take confirmed to Trip they had reached the Armoury Officer's domain. Lips pursed, he cocked his head and uncurled a slow smile of unadulterated egotism he knew his man would never be able to ignore. "Want me to come in with ya, babe?"

"Not bloody likely!" _Bingo_ , he thought watching lightning momentarily flash through the stormy backdrop of Reed's narrowed eyes. "You've got your own sniggering subordinates to confront. Dinner?"

"My quarters, eighteen-thirty hours."

Even while he was putting up the brave front Malcolm couldn't quite conceal his relief at that, his accepting nod strangely jerky as he turned away. "See you later then," he muttered, swaying away from the opening door. "Mister Mueller. Anything I've missed?"

"No, Sir." The chunky Bavarian bobbed up from behind the aft torpedo platform, the micro-calliper he had been wielding against it clanging from his hand. Without giving a sign of having seen the Chief Engineer loitering in the hall he still managed to signal his understanding loud and clear. _Business as usual_. "But I can't reconnect the secondary safety. Could you..."

With an imperious wave of the hand Lieutenant Reed brushed his hapless subordinate aside and, grinning broadly, Commander Tucker slipped unnoticed away. Malcolm was going to be - and he laughed out loud as the word filled his head - just fine. His faithful team as much as his devoted lover would see to that.


End file.
